Ten years after he died at age 32 on Feb. 10, 2006, J Dilla’s music is still a reference point to producers and music aficionados around the world. The luminary’s swinging, off-kilter drums and his knack for expertly chopping and manipulating samples into new creations was enlisted by some of the greats: A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Erykah Badu, Common, Janet Jackson and dozens more.

He was sought after and respected in the music industry, but his craft was underappreciated till the disease lupus lead him to pour his soul into "Donuts," a swan song instrumental album that served as part production clinic, and part farewell to friends and family. But he has become a legend after death, with everyone from Kanye West to Pharrell singing his praises and cities around the world celebrating Dilla Day every February by playing and performing his music. "J Dilla Changed My Life” tees constantly pop up concerts; attendees of the first annual Dillatroit show tonight at Bert's will likely spot a few.

But to the city of Detroit, Dilla means all of that and more. His group Slum Village is one of the first groups to build a real reputation for Detroit hip-hop. Eminem is the superstar who waves the city’s flag, but Slum Village’s album "Fantastic Vol. 2" is a blueprint for how many hip-hop fans understand the Detroit rap sound: soulful, laid-back grooves and stylish, carefree rhymes. Such a blueprint is invaluable, especially for a city whose rap talent has been criminally underappreciated. Dilla left Slum Village but he always championed other Detroit rappers like Frank-N-Dank, Phat Kat, Elzhi, and more.

One of the rappers to benefit from Dilla’s visibility is Guilty Simpson. Many rappers first heard the Detroit MC’s gutter, baritone rhymes on “Strapped,” a song from "Champion Sound," Dilla’s collaborative album with California producer Madlib. Guilty took the opportunity and ran with it, nabbing a deal with Dilla’s then recording home Stones Throw Records, and has since established himself as one of hip-hop’s most consistent artists with solid albums like "Ode to the Ghetto," "Dice Game" (with Detroit producer Apollo Brown), and "Random Axe," his group record with Sean Price and Detroit producer/rapper wunderkind Black Milk.

Guilty Simpson(Photo: Eric Coleman)

In 2015, he worked with Quakers producer Katalyst to craft "Detroit’s Son." He has built a respectable career, and in part he has Dilla to thank – which is why he’s one of the performers at Detroit’s first Dillatroit concert on Friday at Bert's On Broadway with Jay Electronica, Phat Kat, Illa J, 5 ELA, Amp Fiddler, VStylez and Big Tone.

Guilty spoke to Detroit Free Press about what made Dilla so special.

QUESTION: Suppose I’m a new listener to Dilla. What made him so special as a producer?

ANSWER: Even though he sampled a lot, the way he could capture a piece of music in his best element, you could tell that his ear was his best instrument, in my opinion. His music choice, selection, vibe and energy he put out there were unparalleled. He’s one of the few producers who could sample something, and almost take more personality to that sample than the person that actually made the music. I know that sounds strange or weird, or something that somebody can’t even grasp. I’m not saying he’s more creative than the person that created it, but he was able to own it. Just a mad scientist, someone that was underappreciated. The fact he was underappreciated and not recognized like he was supposed to be adds a whole ‘nother level of mystique to it. Being from home, it’s just natural to champion someone like that.

Q: You guys connected in 2001. How did that happen, and what was his role in the city back then? "Fantastic Vol. 2" had dropped in 1998.

A: I didn’t really see him a lot in the city. He was almost like a ghost. You could see his work by him being from home, but I drew to it a little heavier than probably the average listener was. This is pre-the Internet boom. Right before it. His name was ringing in the streets, but I couldn't just click a button and get to his catalog. We would have to go places and hear it being played. At the time when I met him, he had started popping up back at home. I met him at the Lush Lounge, and my man DJ Tony Tone at the time was the resident DJ there introduced me to him. It was a super dope open mic going on there with him, Ike Love, Contact, all those guys. I rhymed at the open mic, and shortly after he wanted to work. As far as contributions then, it was championing him in spirit. When he resurfaced, it was like, "wow." It was dope. I didn’t get a chance to vibe with him before then, it was all musical before 2001.

At the time he was out on the East Coast doing a lot of stuff with Tribe and De La, then on the west coast with Pharcyde. He was cracking heads, then he came back with "Welcome 2 Detroit." It was easy for me to be drawn to him, because he was killing it for the city and still going unrecognized. He was doing stuff for Janet Jackson, and Busta Rhymes. He was being so, so effective, but still under the radar. I thought that was real dope, and signature of a Detroit cat. ... That drew me to him.

And (what drew him to me) was my hunger. Lush Lounge was somewhere I felt was a home, and I think he just caught me in my element. I probably kicked a 20, 24-bar rhyme. I don’t remember what I kicked, but I got off the stage shortly after, my name was buzzing around the spot, and he wanted to work with me, and the rest was history. Right place, and the right time, with the right rhyme.

Q: Detroit rap hasn’t always gotten the respect it deserves, and neither did Dilla. Dilla’s legend blew up after his death. How does it make you feel to see him gain more respect after he’s gone? Are you happy that he’s getting that recognition, or does it make you upset that he was slept on for so long?

A: It’s bittersweet. Some people never get that acknowledgement. One thing I do now, some people pass and people say RIP and it’s the thing to say. But Dilla has been gone for a while, and the industry still feels the effects of him. The wound is still fresh with me, and by a person that travels worldwide and sees the impact that he had, it’s still fresh to a lot of people. Not to make his death more important than others, but there are people who have been championed in certain lights throughout the industry, and recognized when they were there, but don’t have the lasting impact that he has.

It’s bittersweet, but you have to understand, I can’t always fault ignorance. Some people take the word "ignorant" and take major offense ... but ignorance is just not knowing. Some people just didn’t know, and him passing made them pay extra attention. ... Some of the people who caught on late are as broken up as anybody that they found out about Dilla late. There are a couple of people that are front-runners, but I can’t really control that.

I would just like to think that however you found out about Dilla, once you gravitate toward the music, if you listen with an open and honest ear, you’ll find something that you like. But at the same time, I do look at it like, “I told you about Dilla when he was alive, and now that he’s passed, it’s "Dilla this" and "Dilla that.” But I just chop it up to ignorance and the way of the people. Hopefully the people screaming RIP Dilla are really playing his music and supporting it, and not just saying it because it’s the thing to say.

I see young generation of kids that are new to his catalog and love his music, way younger than me. These kids are late teenagers, early 20s, who are impacted by his music. I’m meeting young producers saying they’re learning to make beats because they want to be like Dilla. That lets me know that the future is in good hands with hip-hop, because that element of hip-hop is still being preserved. When you have young people willing to do that – not being anti-another style of hip-hop, but trying to preserve that – lets me know that he really influences people besides me. People who don’t have the same walks of life as me, people who have never stepped one foot in the ghetto or saw a gun in his life, but still be able to see a Dilla song come on in a club, and see someone who doesn’t even speak his language but know the song word for word, know his beats instrument for instrument, that’s amazing. To see that so far from Detroit is humbling, and really indescribable.

Q: What’s interesting about Detroit rap is that everyone is linked together between either Dilla or Hex: you, Black Milk, Elzhi, Slum Village, Danny Brown, etc. These two people are responsible for Detroit hip-hop as we know it.

A: Then you put someone like Proof in he mix. With those three, it’s the glue for everything. They’re the keys to everything. When you put that into perspective, it really lets you know that even if you have a massive talent, it only takes a couple of leaders to put things into motion. When Hex first got involved in hip-hop, he was trying to rap in high school. Everybody can’t do the same things. … We have to work together. I have to do what you won’t do sometimes to make it happen. … You’re talking about 20 different acts (coming from those three people). It takes two or three people to settle down, figure out a plan, especially when you have that much talent together, and great things can happen. Hopefully we have the next Dilla, Proof or HexMurda bubbling in the city. Who has ideas better than just getting on the mic and being the focus. Who thinks, "If I can connect this person to this person, good things can happen."

J Dilla's "Donuts."(Photo: "Donuts")

Q: You released "Detroit’s Son" last year, which is produced by Katalyst. Most of your albums are helmed by one producer. How did you two connect, and how does a history with Dilla influence what producers you choose to work with?

A: I got with Katalyst because during the time, I had already done a feature with him. Him and Geoff Barrow, the creator of Portishead, they have a production duo named Quakers. I did a feature for them and at the time, me and Phat Kat were on tour in Australia. We went over to his house ... but at the time I didn’t even know who he was. He played some crazy beats, and from there, we kind of connected and said we wanted to work on a project. He ended up being my labelmate, and anybody (in the music industry) of stuff knows that a lot of the time, the label likes to put the producer that’s with their label with rappers. Sometimes it helps the budget and it helps everybody. But luckily, when they did the the situation with Katalyst, I had already heard his beats, and we had already talked about working together.

Working with Dilla, it impacted everything. But working with one producer was always what I wanted to do. Even when I was working with Dilla while he was alive, he was going to produce whole albums for me. Him and Mr. Porter were talking about working on a project for me, and both of them were going to get a side of the album. We were trying to think of all types of creative stuff. People don’t know that before I started working with Dilla, I was working with Denaun. That was the technique I was going to do. But once I signed to Stones Throw and Dilla passed, and I was getting introduced differently than how I originally planned, Stones Throw wanted to get Madlib active on the album, we got something from Dilla, and before you knew it I was picking beats. That’s a frustrating process for me.

Personally, I don’t like albums with producers from everywhere. Some may say that the album sounds repetitive, but I like for a body of work to have a concept, a theme to it. Especially for myself, I don’t like the process of, "Let me get two beats from this guy, and two beats from this cat," and put an album together. That’s not the way I work. I like to listen to a producer, especially one that’s dope, then hear the 40th and 50th beat that they’re playing, get an idea of their depth, see them take a few more risks, and try something different. You don’t get that if a producer is sending you a beat for an album, they may send you three or four beats, and send you beats in the light that he wants you to rap, instead of producing in the realm you need him to produce. … That’s when the magic happens.